Tom
by The Pure-Blooded Muggle
Summary: On October 31, 1981, Voldemort was defeated by one-year-old Harry Potter. Eleven years later, Thomas "Tom" Hall, from Wool's Orphange, started Hogwarts.


**Prologue: November 1st, 1981**

 **Wool's** was never considered the most splendid orphanage. It was slightly run-down and, at a first glance, seemed much too grim for a place that housed children. Although none of said children there could ever complain that they weren't cared for, they couldn't say that they were the best off in London. The orphans were happy, though. Even with the somewhat dreadful feeling that came with the house's rather uninviting aura.

It was the first of November, roughly one o' eight in the morning, when a knock at the door made the matron, Ms. Cole [1], awake, startled. How she heard the door from her bed on the second floor was the first thing she thought of, but she pushed that thought away as she lifted herself out of bed. Ms. Cole tied a robe around her body and slipped on fuzzy slippers before heading down the stairs, grabbing an umbrella from the hall closet in case of something- or someone -dangerous being at the door. She messed with the locks, the ones that had been locked since the first drunken group paraded through the streets, shouting on about 'you-know-who being defeated' and rambling about someone named Harry. Frankly, she didn't know who, nor did she care about this unknown Harry. No, all she cared about at the time of these oddly dressed persons' celebration was how she was going to get the children to sleep with all the noise. She unlocked the door before cautiously poking her head out, glancing around.

The matron grumbled to herself about children that didn't realize one in the morning was not a proper time to Ding Dong Ditch, and to do that to an orphanage where they had to know children were sleeping was just rude. She was about to close the door, before a small, dark shape caught her eye. The dark shape, to her horror, turned out to be a small child.

"Mr. Hall!" Ms. Cole called out to the elderly man that helped in the orphanage as she laid her umbrella down, freeing her hands. Footsteps traveled down the steps quickly as she filled her hands with the bundle, and soon enough the man who was called turned the corner, revealing himself to the matron. She was closing up the blanket, not at all pleased to find the (newly identified as such) boy had not even a diaper on, and she took to rocking the child in an attempt to comfort him.

"And who is this?" Mr. Hall questioned, one hand gesturing vaguely at the baby as the other attempted to rub the drowsiness out of his eyes. Ms. Cole's own eyes were on the boy, although her next sentence was directed at the newly arrived elderly man.

"There was a knock at the door, and when I opened it, this little guy was on the steps." She explained, and Mr. Hall nodded as he came closer, studying the child.

"Hardly looks a month old." He commented, noting the little amount of black hair and general lack of size that came with the boy. Ms. Cole thought otherwise, murmuring a _"Hardly a week, really,"_ before handing the child to Mr. Hall. The elderly worker put his hands around the baby and took him happily, steadying his rocking to a slow pace as he watched the child.

"Looks a bit like a... Richard, doesn't he?" Mr. Hall suggested, and Ms. Cole gave a scoff in reply. This man would never be able to give names to children. His own children should be thankful that his late wife was better with names than he was.

"He's a baby, Erik. You can't tell what name he looks like."

They stood in silence for a few moments, only the sounds of owls and the occasional car filling the quiet. In the orphanage, the children slept, oblivious to what was going on the floor beneath them, and Ms. Cole gave a sigh.

"Really, he looks more like a Thomas... Tom for short."

* * *

[1] Ms. Cole, at forty three years old, was proud to say that the family business of running the orphanage has gone on for five generations, starting off only twenty three years after Mr. and Mrs. Wool themselves started the place up.

* * *

 **Chapter One: The Letter**

 **Compared** to the other children at the orphanage, Tom was... odd. He didn't quite fit in with the boys as they talked about recent shows on the telly, or girls at the nearby public school that they all went to. The girls gave him weird looks when they thought he wasn't looking. Even the adults and volunteers seemed to think something was off about him. Not that Tom really minded. He would have left the orphanage if he had a proper plan to follow, of where to go next.

No, staying at the orphanage would be beneficial to him. It would provide him with a place to sleep, food to eat, and clothing that made him look presentable. He wouldn't have to worry about his needs, and had more time to spend doing what he enjoyed. In particular, he was able to figure out how to control his 'gifts.'

Tom wasn't quite sure how they came about, but it started when Jerome-with-the-large-nose-and-larger-body was complaining too loudly about not getting the particular piece of chicken he wanted at dinner. Instead, Ruby-with-the-pigtails had gotten it, and whenever Ms. Cole wasn't looking, she would stick her tongue out and make fun of Jerome by waving the piece of food around. Everyone else would just watch, amused, and none of them bothered to help Jerome. He wasn't very liked, often made fun of and too much of a coward to do anything, but it was in that moment that Tom found out something peculiar. The boy in question was looking at his own piece and comparing it to Jerome's, then to Ruby's, and the fact that the latter two seemed to both have bigger pieces then him. That was until Tom's eyes returned to his own plate, and the chicken ended up being bigger than even the pigtailed girl's. It looked as if the piece had grown, and Jerome had noticed the size as well.

With quick thinking, Tom offered his piece to the boy, and a 'beautiful friendship' had begun.

Tom was a god of sorts, in Jerome's eyes. A month after the chicken incident, Tom had convinced the other boys in the orphanage to stop messing with Jerome. How, the boy didn't quite know. But he could see it in the nine year old Trevor Hornby's eyes, whenever he looked at the boy that was three years his younger. It was Trevor's word that stopped Tom, that made everyone look at him in fear and disgust and never do anything for him. But even that came to an end.

Over the years, Jerome became a prepubescent teen that turned his fat to muscles, and was appointed an unofficial bodyguard of Tom. Trevor Hornby had been whisked away to a 'school for the gifted,' and the main person who was stopping Tom's rule over the orphanage was gone. The other children joined him and did his chores for him, either out of admiration or fear. The adults were oblivious to just how so many garden snakes had found their way to the orphanage's backyard, and the children never spoke a word to the matron about just what Tom could do. It seemed like magic, and they knew that the adults wouldn't believe them. They wouldn't believe how Tom could set things on fire, levitate other objects with his mind. How he could control the snakes, _talk to them,_ how he could do the same to rodents and small birds. How he could get a bucket of water thrown on him yet come out dry. Ever so often, however, Mr. Hall would throw glances at the young boy, and the other children would pray that he would notice what Tom could do. That he would throw the boy out, for being creepy, for being so... unnatural.

It was a warm day at the end of July that Tom, having been eleven for nine months, was shown that his unnaturalness wasn't quite as unnatural as everyone said it was. This proof came in the form of an owl. The usually nocturnal creature came swooping at the window during lunchtime, deciding that sitting in the flowerpot under the window was the perfect thing to do as it tapped against the glass, begging for attention. Mr. Hall was the one to get up and see what was going on, having already finished his meal, and soon he had returned with a letter in hand.

The letter was addressed to one Mr. T Hall [1], third bed room on the left, Wool's Orphanage, London, England. How they knew what bedroom he was in was slightly strange, but Tom thought little of it as he accepted the envelope and silently excused himself to his bedroom. He was straight-faced until the door shut behind him, in which he allowed himself to indulge in his curiosity and neatly rip open the letter. There, he unfolded the parchment, scanning over the text once before going back and thoroughly reading what was written.

 **HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

 **HEADMASTER:** ALBUS DUMBLEDORE  
 _(Order of Merlin, first class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_  
 _Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Hall,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted  
at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please  
find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no  
later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall,  
 _Deputy Headmistress_

The letter was interesting, to say the least. If Tom hadn't seen what he could do, if he wasn't able to move things with his mind or control small animals, he would brush the entire thing off as a prank. There was a small part of his mind that still thought it was a prank, too. A well thought out and elaborate one, considering how much detail they put into the letter, the enclosed list, and training the owl. But who would even prank Tom? If it was dangerous, he could name a few people, but this was a completely harmless prank.

Another part of his mind _knew_ that this was real. It flashed to a large castle, to a kind but rather gullible looking teacher, to a grand hall and to a swarm of children in various greens, yellows, blues, and reds. He cursed at his own overactive imagination before rummaging around for a piece of paper to write a reply to. If this was a prank, he would laugh along with them and pretend he was confident of it being a hoax. If not... well, he wasn't quite sure what he would do.

Tom brushed the thought away, saving his doubts for later, and began writing his response.

* * *

[1] It was decided, once the duo was unable to find any sign of a given name eleven years ago, that Thomas Hall sounded much better than Thomas Cole.

* * *

 **A/N: And thus ends the short prologue and chapter one. This is my first ever fanfiction that I am trying to have be multi-chaptered, alternate universe, and not based on the canonically main character. And this is my first ever one that I want to post. Un-beta'd.**

 **God help us all, readers.**


End file.
